Month: January 2008

Sherry dropped by last night, and in keeping with my 60-second tidying up (assuaging the Mom-itis), we were both most elegantly attired. Sherry had on a t-shirt and an old corporatewear fleece pullover, accompanied by pink plaid jamma pants (with a silver stripe!) — all paint stained. And pink slipper socks. Fuzzy! She had her hair in a ponytail.

I was wearing a ‘beater and fuzz-and-cat-hair-covered polar fleece with hand-me-down yoga pants, and slipper socks, too. I hadn’t showered after the gym, so I had a bandanna on to keep my hair out of the way. (And to show off my uber-ruddy cheeks!)

Old broads that we are, we drank decaf tea and scritched the cat. On the plus side, we discussed world travel, raising kids (because neither of us have any…), hawt man-on-man action (i.e. Torchwood, season 2), and the humour and logistics of Elton John coming to Kitchener (and Sudbury!)

“Don’t let the words get in the way. If you’re writing online, forget everything you were tortured by in high school English class. You’re not trying to win any awards or get an A. You’re just trying to be real, to make a point, to write something worth reading.

So just say it.”

Robert Ardrey:

“But we were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted to battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen. We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.”

After turning this place into a one-woman sockmonkey sweatshop for the holidays, I finally got around to the one I owed dear, patient Jennifer as her NaBloPoMo prize. (Lucky me, my prize donation had to go to someone who’s a stellar crafter… No pressure!)

Jennifer didn’t have any major requests for customization, so I went with the classic style, which, I admit, is still my favourite (though making Stretch and Lavender Ninja was most entertaining). She got the gingham buttons, which I also love dearly, and which have only ever been used before (I think…) for my Mom. (Her sockmonkey was a 29th *cough**cough*60th*cough**cough* birthday gift and his name is Chester.)

Here is the sockmonkey shortly after completion, before its cross-border journey. Amusingly, this one has different expressions depending on the angle of the photo. (That’s my work laptop it’s sitting on. Octavian is at the side of the desk.)

Oh, I also made a sockbeast by special request for a woman I used to work with (also named Jennifer, actually), for her little boy — they adopted the baby nearly a year ago, and it was his first Christmas. Couldn’t refuse. The result? Mr. Jingles. (I hear he’s a big hit.) 🙂

So this morning Anatole was being a bit of a dick. He was on one of this “Hey! Pay attention to me!” sprees, accompanied with the type of hyper-activity that typically precedes a big poop. (Yeehah.) Except more so, and more annoying.

Then when I was getting ready to leave, I noticed something amiss in the aquarium — one of my Bala sharks was just kinda… bobbing. Not dead yet, but upside down and not swimming. Then he got stuck in a fake plant. Shit.

He had enough gumption left to try and escape the net, but only the once. I scooped, transported, and flushed his expensive ass (couldn’t see anything wrong from the outside). Anatole commentated the whole while.

Now, Anatole is, without question, the aquarium keeper. I pay attention to it when I’m feeding them, adding water, and sometimes just staring in relaxation mode. Anatole, on the other hand, pretty much has the thing under 24-hour surveillance. (Only one of us can see in the dark.)

So was he going all “Timmy’s trapped in the well!” on me? Was he simply requesting, “I can has filet o’ fish?”, or was he just being a dick, and the dead fish was just coincidence? Cuz, y’know… he IS a cat. (o hai…)

I know it’s recommended to have Balas in threes, but I don’t know yet if I feel like replacing that one right now (I still have two). Might wait and see if anyone else decides to circle the bowl. Or if Anatole develops any other interesting communications strategies. Perhaps there are messages in the litter box I haven’t been receiving?

Particularly the last line. I think every woman’s had one of those experiences — some sex muffin goes to the big Tinseltown in the sky, and while you know you were never gonna knock boots, the mere fact that he/she was alive was enough to keep that small, sexy, delusional spark alive… 🙂

Woman (not me) in the washroom finishes using the toilet. She walks to the sink and swipes her hands under the tap (they’re automatic ones). From what I can see she barely wets even one hand.

She walks over to the paper towel dispenser (also automatic) and procures several to thoroughly dry her hands. Then she gets another one, which she proceeds to use around the handles of the doors so as not to have to touch them directly. (A lot of people do this — there’s even a garbage can near the outer washroom door to deposit them.)

One presumes she thinks she’s protecting herself from other people’s germs. Given that she apparently doesn’t know how to wash her hands properly, I guess I should be grateful that she’s making some effort to project us from hers.

Ahh well, at least this office doesn’t have giant dispensers of sanitizer mounted around the office like the last place I worked…